


Detached

by Meatball



Category: Detachable Penis - King Missile (Song)
Genre: Angst, But the song, I'm honestly not even sure how to start describing this, It is about a penis, Other, That's detachable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:57:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6913729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball/pseuds/Meatball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the same old song. </p><p>John takes Penelope out and promptly forgets about her. Yet she does what she always has, what she probably always will: wait until he comes for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detached

**Author's Note:**

> The Fanfiction subreddit posted a prompt challenge. More details in the end notes.

_ Fuck. _ Penelope groans and forces her eye open against the oppressive morning light. She takes stock of her surroundings, closing it again when the sun’s rays glint violently against the too-shiny surface of whatever-the-fuck is next to her.

_ FUCK. _ She doesn’t even have to try moving to feel the aching everywhere. Last night’s adventures must’ve been something, if the stickiness of her skin is any indication. The grime of shame clings to her, just begging to be washed away.

Penelope sighs and braves the sunlight again, taking her time this go-around, peeking before opening up completely. Satisfied, she lifts her head to look around, hoping against hope for something recognizable. 

Nothing looks familiar.

Penelope puts her head back down and shuts the light out once more. This shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. As much as she loves being outside, she has always been pretty dependent on John to get her out and about and more often than not, John hides her away, leaving her home if he thinks she’s going to be a problem. And maybe he’s right to do that. She does tend to cause him a bit of trouble when he lets her make the decisions.

She briefly considers rolling on home on her own but she doesn't even know how they get from one place to another most of time. John usually takes care of that too, since he’s out of the house more than she is. Whenever they go anywhere together, she just lets her mind wander, tuning out her surroundings and letting John be the pilot and navigator. 

He’s normally pretty good about keeping track of her but every so often, he just kind of...forgets. Penelope doesn’t get upset anymore. This certainly isn't the first time he’s left her behind after a night of drinking and questionable debauchery. John’s memory has always been shit and sometimes, he just gets really involved in what he’s doing. Sometimes, he just kind of leaves her with whoever while he goes off to do his thing, not coming back until hours later. It isn’t always bad. She even enjoys the people he leaves her with. Sometimes. But there are days when she wishes he'd just leave her home rather than be pawned off on someone else for hours. 

At just about every instance, John would only realize he’d forgotten about her once he’d already stripped for bed. Each time, he’d throw his clothes back on in a rush and run panicked back to her to take her home. Once, he found her just laying on the bathroom floor, limp and passed out. It was comfortable, really. She almost wishes he’d left her there. The floor was nice and cool where the rest of the place was just kind of stuffy. Another time, he’d taken her from where she’d been tucked in a corner of a couch, covered in someone’s fruity drink.

Same shit, different day.

Penelope just lays and rests where she is for a while, letting her other senses take in her surroundings. The blanket she’s on is thick and fuzzy, otherwise soft and snuggleable but for the small patch of something unidentified caked on scratching her skin. She recovers from the small shock of sounds that float over to her, unmuffled by the barriers that normally keep her from hearing them fully. Traffic, with their impatient horns. People yelling. Street vendors trying to lure in passers-by. The hustle and bustle of New York City. 

The sun is comfortable despite its earlier attempt to blind her so she settles in, unmoving, basking, and letting the warmth relax her. It must be late in the morning if the sun is up this high already. Her mind wanders back to John, who’s probably up by now and nursing a bad hangover. He’s also probably freaking out just a little after realizing she's not at any of her usual haunts, nor at wherever that party was last night. She should probably be more irritated, given the state of affairs. Instead, Penelope smiles to herself. A little schadenfreude never hurt anyone. 

He'll come around. He always does. They've been attached at the hip for most of their lives and share something akin to telepathy; she's never known him to not come for her in the end. Well, maybe there were a  _ couple _ of times but John’s only human. There’s only so much he can do. In any case, he should be around soon enough. It didn’t take them long to walk to the party last night. She can’t be too far from their place.  

“Penelope?” A familiar voice interrupts her zen. “PENELOPE! Hey!”

She feels the brief touch of John’s fingers on her skin as if making sure it’s her. That she’s alive. She already knows it’s him without even looking. Even without the aid of his voice she'd know his touch anywhere. She's known it for so long. 

“Hey, man,” John says. “Hey, where’d you find her?”

The person that John must be talking to responds. Some man whose words are slightly slurred like he might be missing some teeth. Or drunk. “She wush up ‘gainst that wall o’er there. Brought ‘er here early this mornin’.” Penelope must be pretty wasted herself to not have noticed the man who’d apparently been hovering over her all morning. 

“Aw, man. Aw,  _ man _ ,” John’s voice is shaky and panicked when he touches her again. “I’m sorry, Penny. I’m real sorry.” Penelope peeks up at him. He looks close to tears. 

“Hey, man,” he turns to the unidentified man once more. “Thanks. Thanks for looking out for her. I’m gonna take her home.”

“Twenty-two bucksh, buddy,” the possibly-drunk man tells John.

“W-what?”

“I’ll give ‘er to ya for twenty-two bucksh,” the surely-drunk and likely-homeless entrepreneur clarifies.

“Are you kidding me?” John raises his voice, incredulous, though he really shouldn’t be. This is New York City, after all. “She’s not even yours!” 

“Hey, findersh keepersh, man,” the vendor responds with a shrug. 

John sighs, obviously frustrated. “Fine.” He pulls out his wallet and gives the cash a quick count. “Fifteen bucks, then.” Penelope isn’t offended. The life of a starving musician.

“Twenty.” John gives him a look to which the guy answers, “Jusht makin’ a livin’, man.”

John digs into his wallet and pulls out the rest of the bills. “Seventeen. That’s all I got in my wallet.”

“Deal.”

John lifts her from the ground with unsteady hands. He’s trying to be gentle with her, difficult to do in what is surely his excitement at finding her. He pulls her to his chest and holds her there for a few moments and just breathes. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, relieved. 

“I’m so sorry, Penny,” he whispers to her. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Let’s go home. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

John runs a bath for her, warm and bubbly, just like she likes it. He places her in the water and she relaxes into it while he strips off his clothes and slips in behind her. It’s too cool for his tastes, she knows, and a warmth of appreciation surges through her. John takes a cloth to her skin and washes her, wordless as he cleans the filth from her skin. His touches are light, careful. John has never in their lives ever been so gentle with her. 

“Penny,” John sighs, barely audible, into the silence. “I’m so, so sorry.” There is something in his voice — something beyond simple regret — that she’s never heard before. She listens curiously.

“I was so scared,” he continues. “I didn’t know where you were. I didn't know where to look. I couldn't find you. I don't remember a thing that happened last night. I couldn’t remember and nobody could help me.” 

“I-,” John’s voice cracks yet he pushes on. “You’re so good to me. I’m nothing without you. I don’t deserve you. I’m never gonna let this happen again, Penny. I swear to you. I’m gonna start treating you right. Make this permanent...”

Penelope sinks back into John as he pulls her to him. The smile he can’t see is small and a bit wistful. He keeps talking and she lets the sound of his self-flagellation fade into the background as she detaches herself from the same familiar conversation.

Ad infinitum.

**Author's Note:**

> So the subscribers of the [Fanfiction subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/fanfiction) were challenged to choose one or more of three prompts and write a story with it. I chose the "Odd POV" prompt:
> 
>  **Odd POV** \- Write a story told from the point of view of an inanimate object or some kind of a pet/bug/whatever that can't communicate in human language (or whatever creatures are the main guys in your fandom). It can be a plant that the owner keeps forgetting to water, literally a fly on the wall, a speck of dust, a cloud... up to you.
> 
> I wrote about a dick. I guess that's about par for the course, right?
> 
> [Here are the lyrics to the song in question,](https://play.google.com/music/preview/Tfxktfq76rk6v34bwl5dig4lpmq?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-lyrics) for those of you who've never heard of it. The lead singer's name is John S. Hall.


End file.
